


The Rare Ginger

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animals, Cats, M/M, One Night Stands, POV Greg, Top Mycroft Holmes, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Working the overnight shift as a locum vet suits Greg, but this time a straightforward callout brings him face to face with someone he never thought he'd see again.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 79
Kudos: 347





	The Rare Ginger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/gifts).

> There were a bunch of people enthusiastic about this prompt, and I hope everyone's found their way here to read it! Thank you all for your patience and support, especially TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy who did a bunch of beta-ing for this. Also, cat birthing errors are mine. Research was done, facts were stretched to fit the narrative, things may be...unlikely in real life. It is what it is, lovelies. <3

Greg stretched, wincing as his shoulder cracked. The light was strange in his flat – it was far earlier than usual, but he’d woken with the dip in the mattress when his bedfellow rolled quietly away. Greg opened his eyes, watching silently as the long slim body was systematically covered once more. He vividly remembered slipping each button loose the night before, both of them breathing heavily into the semi-darkness. The soft whump as each article of clothing hit the floor, a thrill of excitement at the newly exposed skin; he wondered if the other man was feeling the same.

He was a tall drink of water, russet-hair-pale-skin, exactly the kind Greg liked. Posh enough to sit self-assuredly in a Dublin pub on his own, having ordered the most expensive whiskey they stocked (decidedly overpriced, as Greg well knew). His long nose had wrinkled a little as he surveyed the slightly run down place; Greg almost smiled at the resignation on his face as he leaned his umbrella against the bar beside his stool.

When calm grey eyes landed on his, the smile spread and Greg raised his beer across the bar. For a long moment, he watched the man consider the gesture before raising his own glass ever so slightly. If he’d turned away, Greg would have taken the hint; more than once he’d had the same reaction only to realise polite straight guys didn’t understand the subtle question.

This one didn’t look away, the eyes turning speculative. Greg held his gaze, leaving the ball in his court. With his perfect hair, three-piece-suit and air of owning the place, it was hardly a stretch to peg him as a top; the kind who’d fuck you over his desk without removing his trousers.

Greg could feel himself getting hard at the very thought of it.

As the moment stretched on, Greg finished his pint, wondering if he would be going home alone this evening, or if the long fingers curled around a glass of middle-range scotch might skate along his skin at some point. His imagination immediately added pressure along his spine, the pads of fingers pressing him down, dropping his shoulders below his hips…

“Got yourself an admirer, Greg,” the bartender said, smirking.

Greg blinked, looked up at Tom. “What?”

“Posh bloke at the end asked me to give you this.” Tom slid a folded card across the bar to him, tapping it with a knowing finger.

Greg flicked a glance over, meeting the amused gaze of the other man. He thumbed the card open, looking at the few words penned inside.

_If you are otherwise unoccupied this evening, might I join you in a drink somewhere a little more intimate?_

Jesus.

Greg swallowed. It had been a long time since anyone had propositioned him, and never so elegantly. He looked up, taking a moment to assess the man again. He radiated power, money and sex, even distracted by his phone as he was right now; there was a slight frown on his face.

_What the hell._

“I’m off,” Greg said to Tom. He leaned in to put his empty pint on the far side of the bar. “CCTV still working, Tom?”

“Yep. He paid by card, too,” Tom said with a wink. “Got your back, Greg.”

Greg always appreciated Tom keeping tabs on him. It was slightly humiliating to know the man had a fairly exact number of people he’d taken home from this bar, but worth it to know at least there was one person who would miss him if he disappeared.

Standing up, Greg was grateful he’d just had the one pint. If things were going where he thought they might be, the last thing he needed was booze affecting his performance – or his memory.

“Good evening.” The voice sent a shiver down Greg’s spine – it was exactly as he’d imagined in the dozen steps over. Dark and amused, the same as his smile; the power was wielded lazily, as though he never even needed to remind anyone exactly what he was capable of.

“Hi, I’m-”

“No names,” the voice interrupted. “This is a…short-term arrangement.”

“Of course,” Greg replied, his heart jumping at the collectedness of the voice. He was polite, but there was nothing in his tone that indicated he was asking.

_Hell yes, you can be in charge._

“I have a car outside,” he continued, “unless you would prefer…”

“My place is close,” Greg said. “Two blocks, and I’d be more comfortable walking, if it’s all the same to you.”

The eyes swept over him, lips pursing as he thought. “The address?”

Greg blurted his address, waiting a little awkwardly as it was repeated to someone on the other end of the phone.

“Very well,” the response came finally. “Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Greg replied, feeling a flush creep up his face.

_What the fuck? Just another one night stand, Greg. Pull it together._

The two blocks passed in a flash, and before he knew it Greg was fumbling for his keys, allowing this gorgeous stranger in ahead of him, checking the deadbolt had slid home behind him.

“So,” his guest spoke before he could open his mouth, “to be clear, I am not interested in a drink.” He turned, pinning Greg with a gaze as breathtakingly sensual and hungry as he’d seen.

Fuck, if he’d ever doubted his submissiveness, this was proving it to him.

“Me neither,” Greg managed.

“Good.” It was low, practically a growl; the two paces that brought him closer were silent, stalking. “Because you are a very attractive man, I am in Dublin for one night, and I have. Very. Definite. Ideas.”

With his last three words he stepped right into Greg’s space, pressing him back into the door. He wasn’t a lot taller, but with his perfect posture it was enough to fill Greg’s vision.

It was hot as fuck.

Greg swallowed and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

A single eyebrow had no business being so arousing when it twitched. “Excellent. Shall we begin by making ourselves more comfortable?” He raised one sleeve, extending his cuff to Greg with an air of expectation.

The night went more or less as Greg thought it would from there.

Now, lying in the half morning light, muscles heavy from an energetic night, Greg remembered restlessly caressing skin and feeling the fingers he’d fantasised about roaming his own body. The night was a mix of blindingly clear moments and blurred sensation. The stranger’s voice had been unyielding, guiding Greg to touch, kiss, relax; to allow his body to be explored and breached.

The same air of authority Greg had sensed since the bar was overlaid with a quiet competence, and trust came surprisingly easy. They played without toys and with protection, which was only common sense for two men who didn’t even know each other’s names, but even so, the calm and control he could see wasn’t the creepy kind. Greg had a good ability to sense people, their intentions and overall personality; it was a useful skill when you picked up one night stands as often as he did.

This guy was in control. His demenour made it clear he expected to be obeyed, but the careful way he touched Greg was of someone who valued submission, who recognised the gift. Greg felt cared for, an uncomfortably unfamilar sensation he pushed away.

Greg tucked one arm behind his head, watching the last details settle on the long body. He turned, eyes meeting Greg’s.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Anytime,” Greg replied, surprised at how sincerely he meant it.

It was minute, but Greg thought the man did a double take; he certainly looked mildly surprised. A pause, a tight nod, and he turned on his heel, the sound of his footsteps along the hall echoing until the door opened and closed, leaving Greg’s flat in silence.

“Fuck.” The word floated through the still air. A lot of one night stands had come and gone; more than he cared to admit, more than he could remember individually. Greg knew already this was one he would remember for a very long time. His heart was already quietly aching at the knowledge they’d probably never see each other again.

He didn’t even know the other man’s name.

“Fuck.”

+++

“Jesus, was that your shoulder?” Sarah said as Greg stretched. “It should not be making that noise, mate.”

“I know,” Greg replied. “But I can’t help it.”

“What happened?” Sarah asked. She was sitting on an office chair, swivelling back and forth as her tea cooled.

“Football,” Greg replied. “The tackle was illegal, I’m telling you.”

“Sure it was,” Sarah grinned.

Greg smiled back. This was the kind of locum job he liked. Overnights at a small city clinic were always good. There were some animals to care for, and the occasional callout, but mainly it was just him and the nurse, Sarah, shooting the shit for ten hours until the morning staff came in. This being a swankier clinic, there were more calls than he was used to – the clients could afford the frankly outrageous fees even for a phone consultation, but most were simply looking for reassurance that their animal would be fine until morning, or sometimes just a friendly voice for a bit of a chat.

“Mostly old ladies and their lapdogs,” Sarah told him. “Or else it’s the maid and they’re freaking out that they’ll be responsible for their boss’ darling dying overnight.”

“Fine by me,” Greg had replied on his first night in.

“Morning shift is the worst,” Sarah told him. “Mid-morning, that’s when they all come in, wanting to be fussed over.”

Greg grinned again. “We’ll be long gone by then.”

“Hell yes,” she said, raising her mug to him.

Now, with a couple of weeks under his belt, Greg was used to the rhythm of the clinic. He and Sarah got on well, working together as a team when needed, and he appreciated her work ethic. He was only here for six months or so, but he’d certainly be telling Simon he was available again if they needed him.

“You sure it wasn’t something more…intimate?” Sarah asked, grinning. “The Silver Tipped Stud didn’t fall off something? Or someone?”

“Shove off,” Greg said good-naturedly. “Not all of us are cut out for nauseating monogamy.”

“I’m surprised you even know that word,” Sarah told him, twirling her engagement ring in his direction.

“I’ve heard of it,” Greg replied. “Not sure it’s something I’m really looking for, though.”

“I’m sure it would take a hell of a man to pin you down,” Sarah smirked.

Greg couldn’t help himself, a snort of laughter escaping before he could stop it. “Oh, there have been one or two,” he told her, grinning as she rolled her eyes. He didn’t say anything else, but a vision of russet-hair-pale-skin rose in his mind as it did every so often. Six months, and he still couldn’t get the Dublin redhead out of his mind. There had been others since then; Greg knew he was good looking, and he loved the rush that came from hooking someone new.

Of course, nobody had lived up to Dublin.

The rush had been subdued ever since, and a vaguely disappointed sensation had become the norm. He understood why they’d kept it anonymous, but still, a nagging desire to find the redhead again often frustrated him.

The phone rang, pulling him out of his reverie. Sarah rolled her eyes theatrically as she tapped her headset to answer.

“Wattle Hill Veter- yes sir,” Sarah said, sitting up suddenly. “I’m going to need you to calm down and tell me what’s happening.”

At the change in her tone, Greg sat up straighter. She was listening intently, and turned to Greg, winding one finger in the air in a ‘get going’ motion as she scooted back towards the desk. Adrenaline shot through him as he stood up, moving closer to read the notes Sarah was taking.

_Feline birth, _he read. _Owner panicking._

He grinned, his heart rate easing a little.

“Normal signs?” he mouthed.

Sarah nodded. She’d brought up a client file on the computer, clicking to send directions to Greg’s phone. It was one of the cooler aspects of this clinic, Greg thought as he gave Sarah a thumbs-up and moved towards the door. There’d been enough of these nights that he knew Sarah would text him any more information while he was driving; the app they used would give him directions, which was very handy given how little he knew London, especially the rich residential areas he tended to be called out to.

Kittens, he thought to himself. In theory, it could be easy; an experienced mother would more or less manage it themselves, and he would pretty much just make sure they were all okay. The most difficult part would be finding something to talk about with the owner. On the other hand, if the mother was young or inexperienced, or something medical went wrong…well, it could be a very different outcome.

As he drove, Greg mentally reviewed what might come up. He’d helped dozens of puppies and kittens into the world, but it never hurt to remind himself of what he was there for. The miracle of life could wait; he was there to make sure the opposite didn’t happen.

He was almost there when his phone rang, and he engaged the hands free.

“Talk to me,” he said to Sarah, taking a left turn as directed.

“First time mother,” Sarah said without preamble, “and she’s not sure how to deal with it.” She was suppressing a smirk as she added, “the cat was acting strange, and it sounds like she disappeared for a while then came back and dropped a kitten in his lap.”

“Poor guy,” Greg said, turning the last corner. “Must have been a shock to have a kitten show up like that.”

“No, I mean her waters broke all over him, and the first kitten just popped right out,” Sarah said with a snort. “I think he was still in shock when the second one arrived.”

“Jesus,” Greg said, with a snort. He pulled into the curb. “Well I’m here. Sounds like this mama needs a bit of a hand.”

“And the owner,” Sarah said. “Good luck with that.”

“What’s his name?” Greg asked.

“Mycroft Holmes,” Sarah said. “Have fun.”

“See ya later,” Greg replied. He tucked his phone into his pocket before grabbing his bag. “Right.” He bounded up the steps and with a deep breath, rang the doorbell.

“Hi, I’m the vet,” Greg said, as the door opened. “Here for Mycroft Holmes?”

“Identification, please,” the woman said without a smile.

Greg raised one eyebrow but pulled out his drivers’ licence and handed it over. She examined it, then asked, “and what do you understand you’re here for?”

“Someone’s having kittens,” Greg said. When she didn’t respond, he added more seriously, “I’m the locum from Wattle Hill Veterinary Clinic. Mr Holmes called earlier saying his cat was having trouble with the birthing process. I’m here to help.”

“Right,” she said, handing his licence back and letting him in. “This way.”

Greg gripped his bag, following her into a lift up one floor and out into a living area bordering a kitchen. The décor was the kind of ‘nice’ that was probably a long way out of his league, but as soon as the lift closed behind him, Greg’s focus was on the sound of mewing from the far side of the room.

His attention was taken by the cat and a man sitting on an armchair, his head bent over as he murmured to the source of the distressed sounds on his lap. It was pile of ginger fur, which was unusual enough for him to take note; female gingers were far less common than males, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d met one.

Greg walked towards them, then slowed as something prickled up the back of his neck. It wasn’t the hair, which was a familiar shade as he moved closer, or the expensive surroundings, but the voice. Low and soothing, it catapulted him back to his place in Dublin and a night he’d still not forgotten.

“Mr Holmes,” he managed, bracing himself for the response.

He expected the grey eyes, but the expression they bore was startling. Frantic would be a good description; despite the calm voice he was directing at the ginger fur in his lap, nothing about his face told Greg he was in control of this situation.

Well that was unexpected, Greg thought as he swallowed. Mr Holmes blinked twice before recognising him, but Greg waited for him to speak. He probably didn’t want his security team knowing he picked up random anonymous men in bars.

“You’re the vet?” the man asked without preamble.

“I am,” Greg said. “Greg Lestrade.”

“This is Miss Rogers,” came the terse response.

“Hello there,” Greg said, dropping to his knees and focussing on the cat. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?”

“She’s had two kittens so far,” came the voice from above.

“Okay,” Greg said. “How long ago was the first, Mister Holmes?”

“Approximately thirty five minutes ago,” he said. “Please call me Mycroft.”

“Sure,” Greg said, ignoring the flash of awareness at the familiar voice. “And she had the second here too?”

“Right in my lap,” Mycroft said. He indicated the sodden wool of the blanket over his lap. “I believe this has soaked through. I’m not sure it will dry clean out of my trousers.”

“No,” Greg said, ignoring the fact that he was being invited to look right at Mycroft’s lap. “They’ll be a write-off, mate.” His attention was mainly on the cat, but there was a sliver of his brain wondering what might happen after they’d dealt with the kittens. He could only see the cat’s back; she was protecting her babies, which was understandable. “Are the kittens under there somewhere?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I believe they’re attempting to…feed.”

“Okay,” Greg said. He eased back a bit. “It looks like she’s alright for a minute, so let me talk you through this. It looks like she’s pretty young?”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “A year and a half.”

“And this is her first litter?” Greg asked, reaching into his bag for some gloves.

“It is,” Mycroft confirmed. “The father remains unconfirmed.”

“They often do,” Greg grinned at him. He was doing his best to appear calm and in control. Managing the owner could be just as important as the patient, Greg knew. It would be even more important given how integral Mycroft might be in this birth. “Okay. It looks like Miss Rogers here has decided you’re her safe spot. It might be she’s not really sure what’s going on herself, so our job is going to be to keep her calm and make sure she knows what to do with the kittens when they’re all born.”

“Will she not know that?” Mycroft said incredulously.

“She might not,” Greg replied. “If this is her first litter,” he shrugged. “It’s not always as instinctive as we think it might be, especially if she’s a bit freaked out by all this.”

“Alright,” Mycroft said uncertainly.

“Do you think you’d be able to show me the kittens?” Greg asked. “If Miss Rogers will let you.”

“I think so,” Mycroft said. He bent his head and murmured something before leaning back, allowing Greg to see over the cat’s back to the kittens suckling against her belly. She mewed in protest, but Mycroft continued his stream of reassurances as Greg’s hands found the kittens and gave them a quick look.

“Right, it looks like she’s cleaned them up well,” Greg said quietly. He withdrew his hands, super aware that he was essentially reaching into Mycroft’s crotch. “And they’re warm and breathing.”

“Alright,” Mycroft said. He hesitated, his palm stroking the cat’s side automatically. “You’ve done this before, I presume?”

“Yep,” Greg said, sitting back on his heels. “Plenty of times.”

“Very well,” Mycroft said. He grimaced. “Am I to remain here for the duration?”

“Well, that depends,” Greg said. “Since she’s obviously comfortable with you, I think you should stay close and keep her calm. I can deal with the kittens and make sure everyone’s doing okay.” He looked up. “Does that sound alright to you?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, and there was relief in his voice.

“Alright,” Greg said. “Ideally, we can make her another spot, somewhere she can nest with the kittens once they’ve all arrived. If you stay close she’ll probably understand that it’s a safe place too.” He grinned. “There’s no saving your trousers, but you probably want to avoid any more body fluids.”

“Yes,” Mycroft said fervently. He cleared his throat. “If you require something, Anthea will be able to source it for you.”

“Great,” Greg said, stripping off one glove and picking up the phone Mycroft had indicated. “Hi, Anthea? It’s Greg. Do you think you could find us some old towels and a box of some kind? Yeah, something kinda small…big enough for the cat and kittens. Yeah. Thanks.” He hung up. “Shouldn’t be long.”

“What do we do now?” Mycroft asked anxiously.

“We wait,” Greg said, shrugging. “We’ve got two kittens so far in what, forty five minutes?” Mycroft nodded. “So probably at least another one to come. Maybe three or four,” he said, grinning as Mycroft’s eyes went wide.

“Six?” Mycroft whispered.

“Maybe,” Greg said. He rested his gloved hand gently on the cat’s belly. She gave a plaintive, drawn out yowl so he pulled back. “Feels like she’s still going.”

“You can feel that?” Mycroft asked.

“Yep…contractions are strong,” Greg said, grabbing another glove as he watched a tiny head appear. “And here comes another one,” he added, watching as it slid out. “That’s right, sweetheart, come and say hello…there you go. Come on, this one’s yours too.” He made sure she was smelling it, then breaking the sac, feeling himself smile as the tiny creature let out a miniscule mewl, nosing blindly around. Miss Rogers replied, purring deeply as her rough tongue cleaned the new baby.

When he looked up, Mycroft winced. “I hope Anthea arrives soon,” he murmured, shifting uncomfortably.

When the lift opened and Anthea strode in, they both let out sighs of relief. The cat had become far more used to Greg, something he was pleased to note; she still seemed unsure what was going on, and he could see she needed reassurance.

“Why don’t we give you one of these towels,” he said to Mycroft. “I know this is weird, but if you stuff it down your shirt for a few minutes, it will smell like you and she’s more likely to stay put.”

Mycroft looked at him speechlessly for a long moment before reaching out for the towel. He maneuvered the towel into his shirt as Greg picked up the box. “So where do you want to put this?” he asked. “Somewhere a bit enclosed would be best. And if she’s not great at letting them feed, you’ll have to be prepared to sit with her for a few days, so somewhere you spend a fair bit of time?”

“Under my desk,” Mycroft said. He pointed to a desk nearby. “I spend most of my time in this room, and the space underneath is quite cosy.”

“Perfect,” Greg said.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Greg watching the cat with as much of a professional eye as he could muster. Mycroft’s attention appeared to be on Miss Rogers too, and Greg wondered briefly if he also found his attention wandering.

Don’t be ridiculous, Greg told himself. As if he’d be concentrating on anything else right now.

“So where does the name ‘Miss Rogers’ come from?” Greg asked.

It was always safe, asking owners about their pets’ name. He looked up, wondering if Mycroft could even hear him. His eyes were resolutely on the cat, but Greg thought he spied a flush colouring the pale skin of Mycroft’s cheeks.

“She’s ginger,” Mycroft said finally. “I favour 1940’s musicals. When I have time,” Mycroft added. The flush deepened and his eyes remained resolutely on the cat in his lap.

“Ginger Rogers,” Greg said, the penny dropping.

“Precisely,” Mycroft murmured.

_Gingers everywhere._

“You work a lot, then,” Greg said, ignoring the observation.

“I do,” Mycroft replied. He lifted his eyes to meet Greg’s. “Miss Rogers is always well cared for, I assure you.”

“I’m not criticising,” Greg said with a half-smile. “I can see how much you care for her.”

Mycroft nodded, his eyes guarded, though he admitted quietly, “I find her company comforting.”

“She’s a lucky girl,” Greg murmured.

They were quiet for a few minutes, only the cat’s uncomfortable shifting breaking the silence. Finally, Greg spoke.

“Okay, how about we give this a go?” he said. “Pass me the towel and I’ll get it ready.” Mycroft fished it out from inside his shirt, Greg ignoring the whisper of warmth clinging to the towel as he lined the box. “Okay, we’re going to lift the whole blanket, with the cat and kittens on top. I’ll support Miss Rogers, you take the kittens and we’ll transfer them all together. She might need to you to stay for a couple of minutes, but hopefully I can sit with her while you get changed.”

“Certainly,” Mycroft replied, flexing his fingers.

Greg placed the box on the floor before he said, “Whatever you were saying before, you should do that again. It seemed to work to calm her down.”

Mycroft stared for a moment and Greg was certain he swallowed before lowering his head to murmur again to Miss Rogers. Greg tried not to listen, but he was so close there was no way he could avoid a few of the phrases seeping into his mind.

“Come now, your highness, this nice man is going to help you move to somewhere a little more comfortable, my dear. How many more babies do you think you have in there? You’ve been finding company somewhere else, haven’t you? I’m so sorry for my absences lately. The instability in other places has necessitated my attendance at some tiresome meetings. I would have preferred to be here with you. I will, of course make it my priority to be close while you and your little ones are getting used to each other. Come now, we’ll have to shift you over. Greg here is going to help you and I’ll take care of your little ones, I promise…”

Greg took his cue, sliding his hands carefully under Miss Rogers, the back of his fingers pressed against Mycroft’s thighs. He ignored it, watching instead as Mycroft moved to support the kittens. She protested a little, but Greg paused, waiting as Mycroft’s long fingers carefully worked underneath. He flinched as Mycroft’s fingertips brushed his own through the gloves. Their eyes met for a long second over the labouring cat.

Not exactly a standard date night, Greg thought to himself.

“Ready?” Greg asked quietly, exceptionally aware of how close his face and Mycroft’s were in this strange little scene.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied.

Greg secured the cat, watching mother and babies as he eased his weight backwards. Miss Rogers protested again, but Mycroft reassured her, his stream of murmured words flowing once more. It was certainly working on the cat, and Greg could see why; his voice was low and soothing.

In a smooth motion, they moved together, cat and kittens shifting safely into the box at Mycroft’s feet. He was resting on his knees now, ensuring the kittens were secured to their mother. Everyone looked fine, and Greg let out a long breath. He raised his eyes to Mycroft, deliberately smiling.

“Everyone looks good,” Greg said. “A girl and two boys so far.”

“You can tell already?” Mycroft asked in surprise.

“Well, she’s ginger,” Greg said. “And she’s got a calico and two gingers so far. Do you know much about genetics?”

“No,” Mycroft said. He sounded surprised, Greg thought.

“Well,” Greg said, walking the fine line between making it simple enough to understand and not being patronising, “females have two X chromosomes, males have one, and the gene for colour is on the X chromosome. So Miss Roger will always have ginger boys – they get their X chromosome from her. This one here is calico, so it must be a girl, inheriting a ginger gene from her and a black or brown gene from their father.” He grinned. “Might help you narrow it down if you want to put in a claim for child support.”

Mycroft nodded, looking again at the tiny bodies scrabbling over his cat. Two kittens appeared to be attached, the other still rooting for a nipple.

“Will they suckle instinctively?” Mycroft asked, looking at Greg anxiously.

“They already are,” Greg replied. “Yes, look; she’s started lactating. Any more kittens will smell it and start moving towards her nipples.” He saw Mycroft flush again and realised it was probably the clinical language he didn’t even realise he was using. “Sorry, you probably don’t hear most of those words very often.”

“No,” Mycroft replied. “I appreciate your candour, however.”

They watched the kittens for a few minutes. Miss Rogers was still shifting restlessly, looking for Mycroft; Greg encouraged him to keep contact with her.

“A few more minutes, just to let her know you’re still here. If the new kittens aren’t attaching properly she probably won’t know how to encourage them. I’ll show you how to help them, if you like.”

“Please,” Mycroft murmured. He continued to whisper to the labouring mother, scratching slowly under her chin as she twisted to try and lick his hand. Greg watched the kittens, pleased to see them seeking out the milk Miss Rogers was now producing. It was a good sign, he thought, given how disinterested she seemed, although that could also be her lack of experience. She’d probably settle into it, especially with Mycroft guiding her. From what Greg could see, he’d be taking time off work to support her. Lucky girl indeed, he thought.

Their timing in moving the new mother and her brood was excellent, as it turned out, two more kittens arriving in the next twenty minutes. Miss Rogers seemed quite startled by their appearance, and Greg saw an opportunity as she started to clean them. He peeled off his gloves and sat back on his heels.

“Okay, do you want to see,” Greg murmured, “if you can go and get changed? She’s pretty preoccupied by these new ones, so you’ve probably got a few minutes if you want.”

“Certainly,” Mycroft said.

Greg was still looking at the new kittens – both calicos being roughly bathed by their mother, mewling piteously - and he unthinkingly dropped his hand onto her head, assuming Mycroft would remove his hand as he left.

He was right, but his timing was off; instead of soft fur his hand bare landed on skin. Mycroft’s skin, his eyes told him as he looked over, startled to see long pale fingers under his own. He froze, eyes flicking from their hands up to Mycroft’s face again.

“Sorry,” he murmured. He lifted his hand, allowing Mycroft’s to pull back.

“I will be as quick as possible,” Mycroft said, rising and turning in one movement.

Greg was still watching him when Miss Rogers butted his hand with her head; she was obliviously fine with his attention, as long as he kept giving it to her.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Mycroft won’t be gone for long. He just got a bit of a surprise when you showed up and had a bunch of kittens in his lap.”

He pulled on a glove and shifted one of the newest kittens, making sure it could reach one of the nipples closest to its head. That made five, all suckling well; he wondered if there were more. Miss Rogers seemed to have calmed a little now, which might be a sign that her body was done with kittens. That would be good; five was enough to keep anyone busy, let alone a new young mother.

“You must have been keeping your lover close to your chest, hey? Out looking for some loving while Mycroft’s away? Don’t worry, I’m not gonna judge that. We’ve gotta get it where we can, right? Next time we might make sure there aren’t any more kittens, though. Not sure Mycroft wants to be finding homes for too many more of your babies.”

“Indeed I do not,” a voice came from behind Greg.

Greg felt warmth suffuse his face, wondering how long Mycroft had been standing there.

“Well, I can help with that,” he said. “Hopefully before she finds another friend to keep her company at night.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said.

Greg was unsurprised to see Mycroft dressed in expensively tailored trousers, but the open collar was not what he’d expected. He stood up, unable to stop his eyes dropping to the pale skin at the base of his throat. He swallowed, a flash of memory reminding him how that skin tasted, the collar bone hard beneath his teeth.

The shudder blasted through him without warning, and he lifted his eyes to see if Mycroft had noticed.

If his wide eyes and parted lips were any indication, he certainly had.

“I’d say it’s possible Miss Rogers is done,” Greg said, clearing his throat. “I won’t be able to say for sure for maybe another hour without a kitten, but she seems to be much calmer, and she doesn’t appear to be contracting any longer.”

Mycroft nodded, swallowing hard. He gestured towards her. “Does that mean you’re anticipating remaining here for another hour?” He hesitated before adding, “If you’re willing to remain a little longer, I would be pleased to make tea.”

“Tea would be great,” Greg said immediately. “However it comes would be fine.”

“Certainly,” Mycroft replied, bending down to scratching Miss Rogers’ head before moving to the kitchen. Greg sat down on the floor, leaving space for Mycroft to sit closer to the cat box. Miss Rogers certainly seemed to be calmer now, and privately Greg was quite sure everything was over.

Professionally, he wouldn’t leave quite yet, but he had to admit to himself that there was an element of personal gain from his decision to stay. A quiet cup of tea sitting on the floor with his red-headed mystery man, keeping an eye on the brand new kittens he’d just watched come into the world? There were worse ways to spend the night, and when it came to meeting the redhead again – Mycroft, he had a name now – all the scenarios he’d idly considered none came close to this.

“Thanks,” Greg murmured when Mycroft handed him a mug. He was mildly surprised there wasn’t a tea tray complete with delicate china. This was far more low-brow than he’d anticipated.

“A tea tray was hardly practical,” Mycroft replied, hesitating.

“You should sit here,” Greg said, indicating the space between himself and the cat. “It’ll help keep her calm.”

“That’s very considerate,” Mycroft said, settling himself beside the box. He looked inside. “Remarkable,” he murmured.

“Yep,” Greg said. The warm satisfaction he associated with a particularly good day was starting to spread through him. “I should just check in with work.”

He pulled out his phone, shooting off a quick message to Sarah.

_Straightforward birth. Five live kittens. I’ll be another hour I’d say. - G_

_No problem. Quiet night here. And the owner? - S_

_You won’t believe me. Fill you in later. - G_

He closed his phone. “Sorry,” he said to Mycroft.

“Not at all,” Mycroft replied. He hesitated before asking, “You are not a regular vet at this clinic?”

“Locum,” Greg replied. “Just six months, though if Simon asks me to stay, I probably will.”

“You have nothing else booked?” Mycroft asked.

“Not yet,” Greg replied. He shrugged. “I don’t mind moving around, so finding work’s not generally a problem.”

Mycroft nodded. “You’re not based in Dublin, then.”

“Not based in anywhere,” Greg shrugged again. “I move around a lot.”

Mycroft opened his mouth, then closed it again, pursing his lips.

“Go ahead,” Greg said. “Ask whatever it is.” He tried for a grin. “I don’t mind, not like we have anything else to do.”

“You don’t have family?” Mycroft asked. His expression was apprehensive, as though Greg might go back on his earlier invitation to ask.

“No,” Greg replied. “Well, I do, but none particularly close. Sister in Leeds, but my parents are in France and I’m not married. No kids.”

“Ah,” Mycroft said. His hand dropped into the box, presumably onto Miss Rogers’ head; a smile came over his face as he regarded her and her small brood.

“So I just follow the work,” Greg said. “I’ve lived all over the UK. Always somewhere new to explore.” He sipped at his tea. “And you? Roots in London?”

“Work is centred in London, yes,” Mycroft told him, still looking at the cats. “I travel often, though the next few months won’t be so much.”

“Probably six weeks or so,” Greg said. “After that they’ll be a lot more independent. You should be able to hire someone to keep an eye on them by then.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, his relief palpable. His eyes flicked over to Greg, then across the room again.

“Work’s demanding?” Greg asked carefully.

“It is,” Mycroft replied. He flicked a glance over at Greg. “I cannot discuss details, unfortunately.”

“No problem,” Greg said easily.

Silence fell over them for a few moments. A gentle purring was coming from the box, and Greg was startled to realise he’d forgotten about the cat for a moment.

“Miss Rogers is alright?” he asked, pushing the guilt aside.

“She appears fine,” Mycroft replied. “Thank you for your assistance in this. It is not something with which I was prepared to deal effectively.”

“Not many people would be,” Greg said, grinning at him. “Did you know she was expecting?”

“No,” Mycroft admitted. “She is not meant to be venturing outside.”

“Well, I guess she’s found a way,” Greg grinned. “If you give us a call in a few weeks, we’ll book her in to get spayed as soon as the kittens are weaned. She could get pregnant soon after that so you’ll need to get on it. Especially if she’s exploring on her own.”

“It appears she has been,” Mycroft said. “And as you said earlier, finding homes for more kittens than these is not something for which I wanted to plan.”

“So she’s got two boys and three girls?” Greg asked, putting his empty mug down beside him.

“It appears so,” Mycroft said, leaning back. Greg peered over the edge of the box, aware he was leaning into Mycroft’s space as he did so. “At least it will be easy to tell them apart.”

“Girl gingers aren’t common,” Greg said. “Unless she finds a ginger boyfriend, or some kind of genetic fluke happens.”

“It appears I am unable to prevent the boyfriends,” Mycroft said, “but we will ensure there will be no more kittens.”

“Fair enough,” Greg said. He looked at the pile of fur, now settled quietly. Miss Rogers was watching them, still looking mildly astonished at what had happened.

“You’ll have to think of names,” Greg murmured. As he eased back, he realised Mycroft was not looking at the cats but at him, and he brought his eyes around to meet the grey eyes again. Time slowed, and Greg felt his breath catch as it had that first moment in the bar. Soft grey eyes, not as in control as they had been in the bar, but still as arresting. They held Greg’s with a promise of the same breath-taking night as they had experienced earlier.

He swallowed. Were they going to address this? Or would he simply check the cats and return to the vet surgery, never to see Mycroft again? He knew what he wanted, but his desire for something more clashed with his memory of Mycroft’s voice saying, “This is a…short-term arrangement.”

He’d wait. See what Mycroft proposed. Hold that gaze without giving into the temptation to reach out and touch.

“Gregory,” Mycroft’s voice broke the silence. “I had not anticipated seeing you again.”

“Me either,” Greg replied. His heart started thumping. Holy shit, Mycroft was going there. What was he going to suggest? Greg knew he’d probably agree to whatever Mycroft proposed, and that wasn’t just his submissive nature. He was fascinated by this man, and their evening tonight only sharpened his interest in the person he’d now met properly. Impatient, he waited, concentrating on the base need instead. Surely, Mycroft would propose some kind of discreet arrangement. Maybe even just another single night…

Greg swallowed, waiting with his pulse pounding in his ears.

“While I have in the past taken men home,” Mycroft murmured finally, “never have I desired seeing them again once our liaison concluded.”

Greg grinned a little breathlessly, hoping and denying his hope at the same time. “I have,” he said. “Taken men home, and wanted to see them again. Not like you, though.”

“Not like me?” Mycroft repeated. Greg had the distinct impression he’d surprised Mycroft.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that night,” Greg admitted. He hesitated before adding, “There’ve been others but nothing has been the same.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

“What?” Greg said a little defensively. “It’s been over six months.”

“It has,” Mycroft replied. He flushed a little as he admitted, “I do not often find someone…interesting. Certainly not in a public bar.”

Greg grinned. “So I was interesting, was I?”

“Certainly,” Mycroft said, and the hint of amusement was curled around the lazy air of power now returning to Mycroft’s bearing. “You remain so, in fact.”

Greg swallowed. “Well for what it’s worth,” he said, “I meant what I said. When you left, I said, ‘anytime’.”

“You did,” Mycroft replied immediately.

He remembered, Greg realised. Had he been recalling their night for all these months too? Regretting the anonymity for which he’d asked?

“I’m still interested,” Greg added, wanting to be clear.

“Good,” Mycroft said, flushing again. He hesitated, then asked, “To be clear…in what are you interested?”

Greg grinned, the spiral of need inside him broadening beyond lust despite his effort. “You,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about that night, obviously, but I reckon we’ve gotten along alright tonight too. If you’d be interested in something more than just sleeping together.”

Mycroft nodded, thinking. “I would,” he said finally.

“Great,” Greg said. He leaned across, pretending to look at the cats again. They all seemed fine, and as he turned back, his face was exceptionally close to Mycroft’s. He paused, meeting those eyes, feeling the desire swoop through his chest as Mycroft’s hand closed around his bicep.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, and the low voice was almost proprietorial. It reminded Greg sharply of that first night, when Mycroft had made his desires clear. Another shiver and this time Greg didn’t try to hide it.

“Perhaps once you finish work,” Mycroft said, “you might consider returning here.”

“To check on the cats?” Greg said.

“No,” Mycroft said, his mouth curling in a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Breakfast, then,” Greg managed, unable to keep his eyes from Mycroft’s mouth any longer. It was fast, but he could tell Mycroft noticed. That eyebrow twitch was something he absolutely remembered from last time.

“If you like,” Mycroft replied. His smirk grew, and he leaned in, mouth running along the edge of Greg’s ear as he murmured, “I remember what you _do_ like…and you’ll need your energy.”

“Fuck,” Greg breathed. He was hard already, and that kind of declaration was not helping matters. “I thought we were going to-”

“We will,” Mycroft said, eyes flashing. “But if you think you’re going to be able to come for breakfast without me taking you to bed, you are sadly mistaken.” He pulled back, the fire in his eyes intense. “Six months is a long, long time, Gregory.”

“It is,” Greg replied. So this was going to be one of those relationships, he thought. Start with the sex, build the rest in. He could definitely work with that.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll come back after my shift finishes.”

Mycroft’s mouth turned up, and this time it was more genuine pleasure and less self-satisfied smirk. “Excellent,” he murmured, and finally closed the gap, kissing Greg with the soft promise of more to come.


End file.
